


Paperbark

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 04:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15941357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A collection of shorts and fragments.Chapter 1: Can you still call it a threesome, if one third of the relationship is an inanimate object? (Remus/Sirius)





	Paperbark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you still call it a threesome, if one third of the relationship is an inanimate object? (Remus/Sirius)

 

P O S S E S S I O N

 

Sometimes Sirius thinks the house is haunted or possessed. Or perhaps they are.

It doesn't fit in the landscape, as an old farmhouse or something square and modern would. It has a few large rooms with high ceilings and plenty of windows. The small porch in the southern corner is really only big enough for two.

Sirius can see why the scenery appeals to his partner. It's romantic, ever-changing with the seasons. It looks different every day and in whichever direction you turn. There are wild meadows, sunny and postcard-perfect in the summer, and the green-tinged privacy of their little edge of the river looks inviting from afar, but from April until October the mosquitoes are too resilient for any kind of legal magic. But one can always go the other way over rolling hills and unfarmed fields, where the frost turns dead plants into alien sculptures in winter.

The house was theirs from the moment they saw it. Remus dug his heels in and fell in love, and Sirius gave up his plans of comfortable city living. When he came back from the shadows, all his possessions were returned to him, Grimmauld Place included. Coming from an old family of pure blood, riddled with madness and a strong affinity to genocidal despots – disgraced or not – still meant something after the war. He had researched wards and containment spells for two months, before he went back for the last time and fed every last scrap of evil brick and mortar to the devastation of Fiendfyre, only just suppressing a mad cackle.

The fine issued by the Ministry had been astronomical. Sirius put on his best robes and went to Diagon Alley in person to pay in cash.

He wanted to stay in London at first, dirty, pulsing, and so alive, but Remus looked more and more trapped in the luxury of their new home with each passing day, even while Sirius felt himself thrive. In the end, it didn't matter. They are wizards. Even the furthest corner of the country is only an Apparition away.

Sirius still remembers the first year in vivid detail. How Remus whirled through the house and the land around it, painting, hammering, building, and always working, working, working. Success and failure followed him in equal measure, but Remus never seemed to resent the latter.

Molly had taken Sirius aside one fine day, when Remus was still assembling the small greenhouse, and in hushed whispers told him of her suspicion that Remus must be nesting. She had looked so earnest and grieved, as though she didn't know how to break it to them that no amount of buggery would give them a child of their own. Sirius had clearly offended her with his laughter, but he had done his best to set her straight.

If Molly saw the wolf on the nights of the full moon, she would never have misunderstood. It would have been obvious from the start, that Remus – who had never allowed himself to get attached to things and places – was claiming space. And he was neither shy nor cautious about it. He wasn't growing roots, he was shoving them into the ground with all his might, because nothing and no one would make him leave now.

Even a few years down the line and in his human body Remus hasn't stopped. By now, Sirius is used to sharing Remus' love with their home, even if he would like to exclude it from their sex life. Sirius doesn't mind the frequency in which they have sex at all, even though it makes him feel like an old lecher sometimes. Disregarding all thoughts of comfort, decency and practicality, they fuck against the walls, on the floor, in the disused barn and all over the surrounding property more often than in their actual bed. Sirius would be open to the couch or the divan, or one of the armchairs in a pinch, but saying no to Remus is not exactly among his many talents. That Remus runs his hands just as lovingly over furniture and windowsills as he does over Sirius' skin leads to twinges of jealousy now and then, but considering the lives they've both had, eccentricities like these remain mildly noteworthy at most.

The day is fainting in the distance. Remus sits in the living room, drinking a bottle of Muggle cider, his feet propped up on the antique sofa Sirius rescued from Alphard's cottage roughly two ages ago, and watches the wallpaper intently. The Greek motifs move whenever they don't have guests over. Their first visitors being too scandalized for words had warranted a compromise.

It's one of those days, in which Remus gets lost in their place. There's no room for music or much conversation, but Sirius takes it in stride. Being lost in your own head is worse.

Dinner comes via owl. The charmed packaging of their order hasn't done its job. Different dishes, sauces and side salads have united into one big mess. Sirius has no clue why he even bothered with Dung's latest business venture in the first place. Remus laughs, which makes him less angry, but no less hungry. He sends a strongly worded letter of complaint right back with the put-upon owl. Without cursing the paper it's written on.

Nightmares come less frequently. But he still tumbles out of bed, tangled in sheets and his own damn hair, trying to escape. When the room around him returns to being their familiar, non-threatening bedroom, he realizes that the other side of the bed is empty.

Eventually, he finds Remus in the greenhouse, eating tomatoes like apples. They're everywhere. Remus hasn't planted anything else. Nowadays, the only additions are new self-made shelves and other comforts for the favoured vegetable. And more tomato plants. They're all different shapes and sizes. Some are bright yellow and orange, some striped red and green, and some so dark they look black. Sirius goes to him and says something obvious about Remus' ability to sleep, no wonder with his brain so far from alert. Remus doesn't speak, but strokes Sirius' chest with the back of his hand, because his fingers are dirty.

Sirius drops his head on Remus' shoulder. All those times he has been trapped in his life, in one way or another, he never thought freedom would smell like this, like warm soil, tomato juice and the inevitable sawdust on Remus' skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism, constructive or otherwise, is always welcome.


End file.
